The speed with which Count Weiss's army and the troops of the nobles allied with Viscount Miles arrived was just as swift as the panic that spread among the local nobles.
Just as Ryan had predicted, Viscount Miles could not bear the food burden of five thousand soldiers. Rather than send the Count's army to Zero Crossing City, he directed them straight to the border of Baron Barnes's territory.
And it was at this very moment that Ryan had only just completed the initial construction of their defensive line.
At the front of the army, riding his warhorse, Artel Weiss appeared proud and high-spirited—but also deeply furious.
"Charge! Capture that damned Baron of Frozen Soil alive! I'll repay the humiliation he caused me a hundredfold!"
With his command, a mass of slave soldiers surged forward across the flat land, wielding all kinds of crudely enchanted weapons. But after running barely a hundred meters, the frontmost slaves suddenly plunged forward—falling into hidden traps beneath their feet.
One by one, they tumbled into deep pits, impaled by sharp wooden spikes that pierced their bodies. Blood and screams mingled in the air. The terrifying sight caused the rest of the slave soldiers, who had just been charging with noisy enthusiasm, to freeze in terror.
The slave soldiers looked at each other, hesitant and frightened. The enemy ahead was real, but the death of their comrades right before their eyes was even more vivid. They didn't want to die. Not even being Count Weiss's troops could instill order into such disarray.
Behind them, Artel's face twisted in rage.
"Damn these slaves. They should all be hanged from trees!"
"Ash, send your men forward."
A knight stepped out from behind Artel, his armor etched with intricate runes. He was so tall that even atop his horse, Artel was only half a head taller.
Covered entirely in armor, the knight raised a massive cleaver—its stench of dried blood so strong that even Artel instinctively recoiled.
Soldiers in leather armor advanced slowly, prodding the slaves ahead with spears.
Under the crushing presence of death, the slave soldiers had no choice but to shuffle forward, layer upon layer pushing and dragging one another. The ones at the front had no choice but to continue ahead.
Their pace was slow, out of fear—any step could land them in another trap, impaled by hidden spikes.
But the pressure from the rear grew faster and faster. Eventually, someone again stepped into a pit.
"Ahhhh!"
The scream caused panic to ripple through the ranks. But the regular troops in the back had run out of patience.
"Get moving, you wretched scum! Charge!"
Knights shouted, lashing whips onto the backs of the slaves, forcing them once again to run forward.
Screams echoed. After hundreds of such traps were finally cleared, the army reached flat ground once more.
But fear still weighed heavily on them. Their charge remained sluggish.
And what was Ryan doing at that moment?
He stood watching the massive force charging toward him, silently counting.
"One hundred, two hundred, five hundred…"
Eventually, he frowned.
"The numbers don't add up."
"There are only about three or four thousand here. Where's the rest of the army?"
Just as Ryan finished speaking, a rider galloped in from the rear at breakneck speed.
Ryan's expression changed drastically. He shouted:
"Brand! Kill him!"
Beside him, Brand had already drawn his bow, but the rider's voice reached them first:
"Lord! Bad news! Troops have appeared on our eastern flank—they're marching straight for your castle!"
Thud!
An arrow shot clean through the rider's armor, piercing his throat. He fell from his horse, clutching his neck in terror.
"Ryan!"
Baron Barnes roared, turning to Ryan. But Ryan merely stared back coldly.
"Barnes, this is war. Do you not understand the consequences of sowing panic among the troops?"
Barnes glared at Ryan.
"I must return to defend my castle."
"Barnes!"
Ryan was furious too. He pointed toward the thousands of troops advancing toward them.
"If we win this battle, Northwind's Flower will be safe. But if we lose—you'll lose everything!"
"I won't lose everything! But Ryan, if Northwind's Flower falls, I'll be a disgrace to my family. I must go back!"
Barnes shouted back, his anger mounting.
"If you hadn't insisted on fighting out here, we could have used the castle's defenses to repel the army. And now?"
"I should never have listened to you and brought my troops outside."
With that, Barnes hurriedly ordered his soldiers to reverse direction and head back to defend his castle.
They had deployed with all their forces. Barnes was terrified—he had no idea how long his castle could hold.
Ryan said nothing as he watched Barnes's forces retreat.
He could understand Barnes's concern, but he hadn't expected him to be so shortsighted.
Northwind's Flower—it was the oldest fortress in all of Northwind Province. And what did "old" mean? It meant that even after countless wars, that castle still stood. It wasn't a place that a few thousand troops could just overrun.
The bulk of Count Weiss's army was right here. Northwind's Flower still had people—servants, knight retainers. If they called in nearby peasants and slaves, the fortress would be unbreachable.
But none of this would get through to Barnes now.
"Brand!"
Ryan shouted. Brand brought a fist to his chest in salute.
"My lord!"
"Take your cavalry and slow their advance. The rest of the infantry will retreat with me into the forest."
Ryan turned his horse, leading the foot soldiers toward a small woodland a few hundred meters away. A frontal battle was now unwinnable. His troops, after all, were mostly made up of slaves.
"As you command," Brand replied, then asked:
"What about the traps?"
"They're no longer useful. We'll defeat them inside the forest."
Ryan cast one last glance at the enemy—now within a hundred meters—and rode off without looking back.
Despite being mostly slaves, Ryan's soldiers had far better discipline and cohesion than those of Count Weiss. As they ran toward the forest, their formation held steady.
"Charge! Quick, don't let Ryan escape!"
Artel ignored Barnes's departure, turning his fury toward Ryan. He wanted to catch the Baron of Frozen Soil—this wasn't Barnes's war.
As the slave troops surged forward, they came to several deep trenches—dug to block enemy cavalry. But this time, the enemy had no cavalry.
Brand led his hundred-plus mounted knights in continuous flanking runs. Their presence terrified the slave soldiers. Some even dove into the trenches to hide.
"Don't get bogged down!"
Brand shouted. He knew the knights' greatest weakness was pride. Though physically superior, they couldn't simply crush thousands of men. If even one fearless slave tripped a horse, the knight could be killed in the swarm.
Even with Brand's warning, several knights were knocked from their horses. Some slaves quickly seized the opportunity to cut down the horses, and the dismounted knights were swarmed and slain—only two were rescued after the remaining knights broke through and pulled them out.
Watching Ryan's forces disappear into the woods, Brand issued the order:
"We withdraw!"
They had no choice. They were just a hundred men against thousands. From their vantage, it was a sea of heads stretching endlessly. And now, driven by the spears of the regular troops behind them, the slaves had no choice but to charge to the death.
Rumble—
Over a hundred knights thundered away on horseback, vanishing from sight. Their mobility made them virtually untouchable on the battlefield.
"Pursue them!"
Artel continued to roar, as thousands of troops rushed toward the forest in chaotic pursuit. But deep within the thickets, pairs of fierce, cold eyes were already waiting for them.
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